Under Wraps

I wasn’t sure whether to shoot him or tear off his clothes.

 

I wanted to be indignant and angry and feminist, but he smelled so good, like cut grass, campfire, and soap, and his lips were so dizzyingly soft. By the time I had finished arguing with myself, he was gone.

 

I shut the door, shuddered at the gun in my hand, and tossed it into the freezer for safekeeping.

 

I spent a full two minutes watching Eric Estrada sell swampland before I speed-dialed Nina. “Hey,” I yelled when she picked up, “where are you? Is Vlad with you?”

 

“Huh?” I could hear the thump of bass, the tink of glasses, and a rumble of laughter in the background. “Sophie? Is that you? I can barely hear you.”

 

I pushed out my bottom lip and sniffed. “Can you come home? I’m scared.”

 

I heard the phone fumble, and then the tink and rumble were quiet. “Sorry about that—it’s so loud in here,” Nina said. “Now what were you saying?”

 

I could feel my lip begin to quiver, the familiar warmth rising in my throat. “Mr. Howard is dead.”

 

“Oh. Well, Sophie, Mr. Howard was like, a hundred and three. He was kind of on his way out.”

 

“No, Nina, he was murdered! Well, not exactly murdered, murdered. He fell down the stairs.”

 

I could practically hear Nina’s eyebrow rise. “So he was murdered by stairs?”

 

“Nina!” I paused, considering. “Where are you? Have you or Vlad been home yet tonight?”

 

“No,” Nina said, stretching out the word. “I haven’t. I went straight from UDA out with that werevamp that came in for his relocation papers last week.”

 

“You didn’t even come home to change?”

 

“I should have. His stupid claws messed up the beadwork on my brand-new Maggie Sottero. I’ve been leaving a trumpet-bead trail wherever I go. And Vlad met up with some equally moody friends around nine, so I don’t think he’s been around the house either.” Nina paused. “Why do you ask?”

 

“No reason,” I said quickly. “I just wanted to make sure you both were okay.”

 

“Do you still want me to come home?”

 

I blew out a long sigh. “No. I guess I’ll be okay.”

 

“Don’t worry, Soph. I won’t be long, I promise.”

 

When I opened my eyes I could see nothing but blackness. I pushed down my cocoon of covers and glared at the glowing red numbers on my digital clock: 3:17. I snuggled back down against my pillow when I heard it: a gentle scraping against the wall, then the sound of—fingernails?—something tapping against my bedroom window.

 

 

 

“Nina? Vlad?” I called. “Nina, is that you?”

 

No answer.

 

I pushed off my blankets and padded into the living room but stopped short, standing in the doorway. The living room was silent, bathed in darkness. The scraping sound started again as did the incessant thump of my heart. I hurried to the kitchen, snatching my frozen gun out from between a box of icecream bars and vegan corn dogs.

 

“Nina?” I hissed again. “So help me, I’m going to shoot a hole in your undead head if you don’t come out here and stop scaring the crap out of me!”

 

The scraping stopped, and I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.

 

And then I heard my bedroom window being pushed open.

 

“Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I whispered, sinking to my knees on the linoleum. I crawled around, gun thawing in my hand, vowing to install telephones in every room of the house from here on out.

 

I winced, hearing my blinds clatter, the trinkets on my windowsill falling as someone climbed through. “Ohhh …” My teeth started to chatter and I pushed myself up, clamping both my hands on the butt of the gun, just the way Parker had shown me.

 

I heard someone bumping around in my room, and I took a tiny step, inching myself closer to the phone.

 

Step. Inch. Step.

 

The gun bobbed in my hands, and I tried to grip it more tightly, the cold from the frozen steel and my own warm sweat making my palms itch. I was within reaching distance for the phone when I was startled by the sudden silence and then a deep, low breathing. I glanced up, seeing the shrouded figure hunched in the doorway. I stepped back, steeled myself, and leveled the gun. I felt the power roil through me as my fingers inched toward the trigger. I clamped my eyes shut and wrenched my mouth open, letting out a wailing howl as I pulled back and launched. I opened my eyes just enough to see the dark figure over the barrel of the gun as he tore back toward the window, hurling himself over my table and scraping the windowsill before he disappeared into the darkness.

 

My legs felt rubbery and hot; I sank onto the carpet and crab-crawled into my bedroom. I chanced a glance out the window, but there was nothing below. Whoever had broken in was long gone. So I clamped the window shut, throwing the lock and closing the curtains and blinds for good measure. I crawled to my nightstand, leveled my breath, and dialed the phone.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twelve